


Strong Enough To Wait For What You Deserve

by afteriwake



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Inspired by Fanart, Introspection, Light Angst, POV Molly Hooper, Poor Molly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 04:51:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5362061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock once told Molly it was best if she didn’t date, but she already knew that. She tried to harden her heart but after his fall she let Tom it, and that turned out to be a mistake. But maybe it wasn’t a mistake to try and be happy; maybe it was a mistake to try and have someone <i>else</i> make her happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strong Enough To Wait For What You Deserve

**Author's Note:**

>  
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> 
> So this fic has two inspirations. The first is the lovely piece of fanart above, drawn by the talented **[rebka18](http://rebka18.tumblr.com/post/126516283752/a-molly-hooper-sketch-to-warm-up) ** on Tumblr (link takes you to the original post with full size drawing), who had bad news today and could use some cheering up. The second was the definition at the start of the fic, which was on a list of lovely words I found online. The title of the fic comes from a quote by Niall Horan. 

  
**INDURATIZE**  
(v.)  
_entwined with sadness;_   
_to harden one’s heart to avoid the phenomenon of love and resistant to romance_   


She had made a vow, after she had learned the truth about Moriarty: no more wasting her time with relationships that were all wrong. No more falling in love with men who were psychopaths or sociopaths, with men who only hurt her. No more trying to be the type of woman that the men she was attracted to seemed to want, only to have them pass her over for the “perfect” woman instead. No more allowing other people to stomp all over her heart and use it and abuse it.

In other words, no more dating.

She didn’t need Sherlock to tell her it was in her best interest not to date; she knew that, deep down in her bones. It was a game that she was no good at playing, really. She never had been, not since she was a young girl with the first blushes of a crush. It hadn’t gotten any easier as a teenager in the throes of puppy love, or a young woman trying to navigate her way through the myriad issues of trying to date through university. She’d hoped that when she was a fully fledged adult, out in the grand wide world it would get easier but oh, how wrong she’d been. No, it was harder, so much harder. 

So at the tender age of thirty-four, she just decided to give it up for good. It was for the best, really.

She had a heavy heart as she watched her friends have the social life she dreamed of, as she got invitations to hen parties and weddings and baby showers. She felt a tiny part of her die a little bit more each time she got reminded that she _could_ have it herself if she chose, if she decided to just take a risk. But her risks had backfired one too many times. She’d had her crush on Sherlock thrown in her face once too often, she’d had a criminal mastermind use her to hurt someone she cared for. And then there were all the little hurts, the slings and arrows that had bruised her heart.

Better to harden it, better to let it wither and waste away, stay alone and lonely. Sherlock’s motto was best: alone protects me.

But after Sherlock fell, she decided life was too short. For all she knew, one day there could be a bullet in her head put there by an assassin as revenge for what Sherlock was doing to Moriarty’s organization. There could be a well-disguised accident that no one would ever realize was murder as revenge for her part in the plan. Or there could simply be other things, such as a car accident she couldn’t avoid or a sudden heart attack or some other unimaginable disaster to befall her. The point was, for all she knew she wouldn’t have much of a life left. She should make the most of it.

So she started to soften her heart again. She started to allow people to be close in a more than friendly way, to flirt a bit, to show interest. And when she caught Tom’s eye, when he began pursuing her, when he made the blatant move to ask her on a date for coffee and it went well and it went from one date to another, she felt hope.

Hope, it seemed, that was almost too good to be true.

She should have known her luck would run out, eventually. She should have known that, eventually, Tom would turn out like all the rest. Tom would hurt her. It just took longer than most. They’d started to plan the wedding, prior to John and Mary’s wedding, but after the Watson’s wedding they fought more. What had been small disagreements before became larger. What had been things they could have talked out before now became things they stewed about in silence. And what had been petty annoyances became glaring irritations.

It had almost been with a sense of relief that she had caught him in bed with his assistant. She was almost sure he’d planned it, as a way of getting an out without having to actually call it quits himself. He was a bastard and a coward, she knew that, but maybe it was best it ended this way. She hadn’t raged, she hadn’t yelled. Thank God she hadn’t moved in with him. She just took her engagement ring off her finger and left it on the kitchen worktop, then turned around and left his flat and went back to Barts, almost in a daze.

It wasn’t until she got to her morgue, got into the privacy and solitude and quiet that it held, that she leaned against the doors. They gave slightly and she held the strap of her handbag draped across her chest, clutching it tightly as the enormity of what had happened hit her. It was over. The engagement was over. Her relationship was over, and she was alone again. She shut her eyes and realized, to her surprise, she had no tears. She had no anger, either. She thought she would have been sad or angry but she felt…nothing.

Perhaps she hadn’t softened her heart as much as she had thought, she realized, and that made her feel quite sad.

A moment later she heard footsteps approaching the morgue. She composed herself, not that there was much composing to do, and then made her way to her office to stow her things. She would be fine. She would carry on. Alone or not, she was strong. She’d had to be, to be alone. And maybe for a time her heart would be entwined with sadness, but this time she resolved she would find more joy in life. If it was best for her to be alone, at least she would be happy.

Because she deserved happiness, whether there was someone to share it with or not, and no one could convince her otherwise.


End file.
